All Roads
by mxjoyride
Summary: Ambrollins slash. Flash forward 50 years from "For Real." An experiment. A meditation of sorts. Rated M for m/m slash, language, metaphors. Contains fluff, old man sex, Barry Manilow.


August 14, 2061

Dean sat on the cushioned bench on their back deck, rocking back and forth slightly, a mug of coffee in his hand. Another mug rested on the table in front of him. His eyes panned down from the usual orange and pink majesty of the sunrise, drawn as always to the shock of silver curls moving swiftly through the water.

A soft breeze blew through, chilling his bare skin slightly, bringing with it the smell of salt. Dean smiled, his eyes still fixed on Seth's head moving through the water. He took a long sip of coffee and set the mug down. He leaned back, fiddled with the WWE Hall of Fame ring on his right ring finger, scratched the skeleton key tattoo on his left forearm – the thing they'd both seen in that dream way back then.

Fifty years.

Seth strolled toward Dean shaking his hair, his naked body dripping wet, his feet caked with sand. He did only the most cursory job of toweling off before walking onto the deck, tracking sand as usual. He tossed his towel onto the bench and plopped down next to Dean. He slipped his own WWE Hall of Fame ring back on and grabbed his mug of coffee.

"August 14th, man," he said.

Dean picked up his mug and clinked it against Seth's with a wink. They gulped their coffee in unison. "Really too bad that fucking Thai place over there closed," Dean said.

"Like I can eat that shit anymore anyway."

Seth reclined against the bench, sipping his coffee and watching the waves. Dean watched the drops of water running down Seth's still-impressive body – Dean sometimes laughed at how much more of a fitness nerd Seth had become since their retirement (was that even possible?), but he had to admit, there were some definite advantages. Not that he was a slouch himself, by any means. Even at his age, with his hair long gone, he could always manage to find some lovely, eager young thing to share with Seth, if they were in the mood for that. Probably not tonight, though.

Dean's eyes quickly grew greedy as they roamed across Seth's body before fixing, as they did so often, on the tattoo on Seth's forearm, identical to his own. He tried to remember the name of that tattoo artist friend of his who had done those, but all he really wanted to remember was just how good Seth's mouth had felt around his cock in that casino bathroom afterward. All those years later, he still kind of felt a little turned on whenever he heard "Copacabana."

Seth set his mug down and hungrily met Dean's gaze, a knowing smirk on his face before busting into his best Barry Manilow impression. "Her name was Lola," he sang. "She was a showgirl."

Dean laughed. "How did you know?"

"That's what you're always thinking about when you stare at my arm like that," Seth said. "Really, I'm hurt that's all you remember. I worked really hard on those vows."

"Yeah, as drunk as you were, I'm sure it was really hard to repeat after Elvis."

"Probably out of my fucking mind, too."

"Why else would you have married me?"

Seth's voice grew lower. "I'm just glad they let me."

Instinctively, Dean laid back and pulled Seth on top of him. Their lips devoured each other – salty and hot. Their hearts pounded together. As they kissed, Dean's fingertips traced the pattern of scars down Seth's back, the ones he knew he'd made. Each touch shot a different wave of memory through both of them – a flash, a scream, the crush of urgent battle. Dean winced. Seth pressed harder against Dean and bit down into Dean's bottom lip. The key turned, every one of Dean's nerves opened up, and he felt the familiar jolt as he tuned into the energy they shared.

The onslaught of sensation quickly overwhelmed Dean's sense of the physical. At this point, it never mattered. Time and experience had eroded the barriers. Trust and hope had opened them. Once they were open, they filled each other – red and blue became violet and gold.

Dean's words echoed through both of them, ringing around them like a cloud. "Every time I fucking rip you apart, pulverize you, breathe you in, burn you inside me. Every time, you swallow me whole."

Their mouths latched together again with suffocating heat. Their hard cocks grinded together, feeling as if they'd fused into one. Hands clawed at skin and flesh – neither knew which belonged to whom. All the friction just fueled the burning need that was their core. Every moan, every grasp, every desperate thrust made it grow until it engulfed them both and shattered through both of them with screaming bliss.

The sounds returned first – the waves, the seagulls, the breeze rustling through. Dean smelled salt and blinked his eyes until he saw Seth's eyes again, separate from his own. He felt his fingers again, his toes, arms and legs, his heart, his breath. He moved his hand from Seth's back, looked at it, and saw blood under his nails.

"You think we'll ever get too old for this shit?" Dean said.

Seth laughed. "No way. If we get too old for this, I'm dead."

Dean pressed his finger to Seth's lips and watched Seth suck his finger into his mouth with a smile. "Well," Dean said. "If that's all it takes, maybe we'll live forever."


End file.
